


Bas, Bas, Bas Befumi

by deathlybijoumme



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Almost Sex, Emotional Baggage, Genderqueer!Crowley, Historical, Other, Trans!Crowley, gender is fake actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 17:37:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17084726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathlybijoumme/pseuds/deathlybijoumme
Summary: Crowley hasn't seen Aziraphale in awhile. Now he's found where he is, and he's got an excuse to see him too.





	Bas, Bas, Bas Befumi

 Crowley shook some of rain off and knocked on the door to the inn. He waited a few seconds under the overhang of the building’s second story before a harried looking woman opened the door, her pinched face softening at the sight of him.

 An upside to hell giving him more feminine corporations as of late: people tended to feel pity at the sight of what they assumed was a woman traveling alone, and questioned him hiding his eyes far less.  The woman stepped to the side, gesturing for him to come in.

 “Looking for a room tonight, miss?” she asked, her face warm.

 Crowley took a second to pitch his voice higher- still a bit deep, but reasonable for a woman. “No, I’m afraid not. I’m looking for an old friend, I’ll have to be on my way afterwards. Is there someone here under the name A. Rafeale?”

 The warmth in the woman’s face retreated slightly. She started staring at Crowley, taking in his corporations dark skin and hair, the lazy, casual way he stood and moved, and the lower class clothing he wore [1]. She thought carefully before speaking, a slight nervousness growing in Crowley’s limbs that made him want to pace.

 “Yes, he just went to his room.” Her eyes narrowed and she leaned into Crowley’s space. “I run a respectable business, you know. So if you’re here to do that kind of business, you can make your coin elsewhere, and take that one with you.”

 Crowley felt confused for a good two seconds before catching her meaning. His face considered blushing a dark rosewood before thinking better of embarrassing him.

 “Oh trust me, he isn’t the type to do such a thing.” Crowley said, keeping his demeanor smooth [2]. “And I’m not the type either. I have more interesting work.”

 The woman moved a bit back from Crowley warily, almost like she could sense the snake in him, and could tell that she’d just poked it a bit too hard. “Last room on the hall.” she said, pointing to a narrow staircase. Crowley walked up it calmly until he was sure she couldn’t see him, then broke into a sprint. He clipped his shoulder against the wall at the end of the hall, and righted himself before knocking on Aziraphale’s door with a restrained eagerness. There were faint noises of someone moving about inside.

 “Angelll,” he crooned, “open up.”

 For a moment, there was a stillness. Then the door opened a crack, Aziraphale peering out catiously. “Crowley.” he said, relieved,, as though he hadn’t been certain it was him until he’d seen his face. “Where have you been?” The question should have been accusing, but it wasn’t.

 “Had an accident in Spain.” Crowley grinned, hoping to distract Aziraphale from anything that might’ve tipped him off to anything about that. Said accident had involved… well, him getting so drunk he forgot he could sober up, and accidentally drinking himself to death as a result. It was embarrassing, and Crowley knew he wouldn’t hear the end of it from anyone who knew about it. “Just got back about a decade ago. I’ve been looking for you for awhile.”

 Aziraphale stepped aside and gestured Crowley inside. “I had some trouble of my own for awhile, unfortunately.” His eyes were drawn to the glint of water dripping on the floor after Crowley. “My dear, you’re soaked.”

 Crowley hummed to himself, taking off his cloak and setting it in front of the fireplace to dry. “Yes. It’s storming badly outside.” He knelt before it himself, warming his hands.

 “Why did you come all the way out here in the rain?’ Aziraphale asked, vaguely amused as he came over to sit by Crowley. “It has been a long time my boy, but you could have waited at least until the storm had cleared.”

 “I had something a bit time sensitive to share with you.” Crowley patted the folds of his skirt, looking for the bag he’d tucked into his waist. Ah! There it was.

   Aziraphale looked at him fondly as Crowley turned to him.

 “You know how it’s quite in fashion now to send ships across the Atlantic?” Crowley asked, his smile wry.

 Aziraphale cringed a little, thinking about some of more recent ventures in that vein he’d heard about [3]. “Yes, unfortunately.”

 “Well, they’ve brought quite a few interesting things over to this side of that blessed ocean.” Crowley surreptitiously slipped the small bag from his waist to behind his back. “Some of them are quite worth sharing.”

 “Are you going to tell me what it is, my dear, or are you going to hold me in suspense all night?” Aziraphale asked.

 Crowley clucked his tongue. “Patience is a virtue.”

 “Yes, and I am not a Virtue, dear.” [4] Aziraphale was still a little ill at ease, thinking of guns and ships and men sent to find gold.  

 Crowley laughed lightly. “I thought their habits were still encouraged in all angels.”

 “Mm.” Aziraphale hummed. “Honestly, though. Are you actually going to share whatever it is?”

 Crowley traced his fingers along the fabric of the bag behind him. Part of him misses this banter with Aziraphale, aches for it after so long away from him. Ridiculous, as he’s taken naps longer than the time they’ve been apart. He wants to draw this out, pull the thread of it long and let it unwind, but he can’t. He can’t, because then he’ll get tangled.

 He pulls the bag out from behind him. “I’ll share, if only to tempt you with gluttony, angel.”

 Aziraphale looked at him strangely. “Didn’t we tell each other our names so we wouldn’t have to do that?”

 Maybe I just want to call you that, Crowley thought. Maybe the word angel in my mouth is a mainstay, so the sweetness of your name never fades from being in my damned mouth too long and too often. He does not say that though, for the same reason he does not unravel the slight wall between them. Instead he opens the bag in his hand and presses a piece of chocolate into Aziraphale’s hand.

 Aziraphale studies it a moment before popping it into his mouth. The look of surprise and joy in his face makes Crowley feel as though his clothes were dry and his restlessness eases, if only for a moment, before becoming background sensation again.  

 “It’s made from cacao beans.” Crowley says, definitely not staring at the way the firelight dances over Aziraphale olive skin and red hair, making him look like a torch alight. Was it Hecuba that dreamed she gave birth to torches? Or had she dreamed of other things... Either way, it made the bones of Crowley twist to think of Aziraphale burning as senselessly. He’d rather Aziraphale’s warmth be a comfort, and it was now.

 A desire poked at the edge of Crowley’s consciousness. He studied it vaguely, before suddenly dropping his gaze from Aziraphale and popping a piece of chocolate in his mouth. He’d sensed such desires from his angel before but this was. Well. It was impossibly tender. Aziraphale wanted him without restraint, but it was tempered with a tenderness. [5] He always felt so safe with Aziraphale, and this did not change that.

 Though sleeping with him… that was… hm. It was… too close to unraveling. He wanted it, but like the other places where he found loose thread, he resisted the urge to just pull. He could break that safety if he did that and Crowley… Crowley couldn’t stand to be alone. And at that, lust wasn’t exactly… his territory. Sure he’d had a fling or two in Italy and dressed to turn heads and coaxed artists to him to immortalize him in their works, but that was different and rare and impermanent.

 Aziraphale was constant. An anchor, the hearthstones, something big and solid and _real_. Crowley could not afford to mourn him.

 He tried to keep that all in mind as Aziraphale placed a casual hand on his thigh. Was this irony? Or maybe it was meant to be, he was a snake in a way, wasn’t he? Makes sense that warmth would turn him stupid.

 “My dear, what are thinking about?” Aziraphale’s brow creased slightly in concentration as he studied Crowley’s face. Why did that warmth have to melt into his voice too?

 “Just a few things.” Crowley shrugged. “None of them important. What’re you thinking about?” he asked, deflecting the question onto Aziraphale as he leaned onto him. _This is a bad idea,_ his brain warned him. _Tangling, remember?_  Another part hushed it, contented too much by Aziraphale’s touch.

 “England, mostly.” Aziraphale tilted his head. “I’ve been reassigned there, you know.”

 Crowley frowned. “Not a lot of yours there, is there?”

 Aziraphale sighed. “No. But I'm starting to get used to it. It seems that no matter where they go, someone comes up with an excuse to start throwing rocks.”

 Crowley felt a pit in his stomach. _And sometimes more than just throwing rocks,_ he thought.

 “I've been thinking about staying in London, in fact.” Aziraphale jostled him out of his memory. “It's not the nicest place, but it'd be interesting to see how it's changed.”

 Crowley hmed. “How long has it been since we've been to London, Aziraphale?”

 “Boudicca.” Aziraphale said, reaching across Crowley to swipe a piece of chocolate and eat it thoughtfully.

 Crowley frowned a bit. “She razed it, didn't she?” Of course she did, he still remembered the smoke and the question on his lips even as he saw death lying around him because he had also seen what had been done to her and found himself wondering; can anyone really blame her?

 “Completely. There's still ash there from that.”

 “Mm.” Crowley made to bury his face in the side of Aziraphale's neck before remembering himself. “No moving around for you then, I suppose?”

 “When have I ever moved without being made to, dear?” Crowley looked up at him then, and there was that warmth in his eyes that made him want to melt and made him feel like Aziraphale thought he was everything and made Crowley feel like he was nothing and oh how Crowley cherished and hated that look.

 “Asssiraphale…” Crowley murmured. Aziraphale's face was only inches away from him.

 “My dear.” Aziraphale murmured back, drawing his face even closer.

 Crowley hadn't expected for it to ever be Aziraphale to pick at the thread, which he supposed was quite stupid of him. Why else did Crowley sometimes feel himself winning in arguments had while drunk and in the quiet? Aziraphale picked at things too, if he had the motivation to do so and thought he could get away with it.  

 Aziraphale’s hand cupped his cheek and he brushed a bit of hair out of Crowley’s face. They could feel each others breaths now, and they both looked at each other, asking or maybe daring the other to make their move.

 Crowley wished he could say he felt something snap or break or anything that made it sound grander than it was, but it was not grand. It was soft and at first it was chaste. They didn’t know who had moved forwards, but Aziraphale certainly was the one who deepened it. He held Crowley’s face just so, and oh Crowley felt like warm was pouring into him and flooding his senses. His angel tasted bitter and sweet, like wine, like dark chocolate, and it suited him so nicely.

 Aziraphale shifted his body around Crowley, lowering them to the floor. He pulled away a little, still close enough for them to kiss again easily. “Are you sure?” he asked, gentle.

 Crowley was not sure. He did not say that. “Yes, angel. I’m sure.” He turned his head, resting his cheek against the cool wood floor. “I just… just once, you know?”

 Aziraphale nodded, and something about it was sad. His hand came to rest on Crowley’s chest, feeling the laces of his dress under his fingers. He unlaced them slowly, but there was a hunger behind it. Crowley had joked earlier about tempting Aziraphale to gluttony, but in all truth, he didn’t need to. Aziraphale let himself have very little in the attempt to uphold Good, but he was not the kind to let himself ever go hungry.

 Aziraphale pushed the bodice and chemise apart on Crowley’s chest, tracing his fingers on the faint impression of scales. Crowley shivered. “Going to take all night, angel?”

 “Why not? It’ll keep you away from causing trouble.” Aziraphale kissed his jaw. “Thwarting, dear. Besides, if it’s only once…” Aziraphale trailed off, kissing Crowley’s neck with a hint of urgency.

_This is a bad idea_ , a little voice in Crowley’s head that sounded much like his own whispered. _This is too close, too much_. Crowley tried to ignore it.

  Aziraphale pushed the fabric of his dress off his shoulders, letting pool around his waist. More kisses, across his chest. Crowley let a soft noise escape his throat. _Too much, bad idea.._ . Aziraphale's hands rested on his waist, pushing the fabric further down. Off his legs, with a little help. Just drawers and stockings. Aziraphale started kissing him on the mouth again. Crowley started helping him undress, shoving his hands inside of his shirt, his hands seeking warmth. Warmer than a human should be, but exactly the kind of warm that Aziraphale was. _Too warm?_

 Aziraphale pulled away from kissing Crowley a second time, staring down at Crowley with all the essence of a sun poured into his pure gold eyes. His irises had taken over the whites and it was beautiful and it felt like a strange reflection of his own eyes. Aziraphale rested his hand on his inner thigh. Crowley tensed without thinking anything but _too close_.

 And with that, Aziraphale was off him. Crowley blinked, almost confused for a second. “Crowley?” he still hovered in his space, still close, but not on him. “Are you alright, my dear?”

 Crowley sighed, closing his eyes and putting his hand over his face for good measure. “I.. I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong, angel.” No, everything was wrong and felt confusing and he wanted… something. He wanted something and didn’t know where to get it.  

 There was a small creak and Aziraphale had moved away from him and oh wasn’t that horrible? Something soft had settled over Crowley. A blanket. To preserve his modesty? He pulled his hand off of his eyes and made himself look at his… friend.

 Aziraphale had pushed his hair back from his face and done up his shirt most of the way. He was looking at Crowley with a look that was worse than the other two because this one was _concern_. He had no right to be concerned for Crowley, no right to furrow his brow and chew on his bottom lip like a human would. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

 Crowley sighed. He could unravel something small and maybe that would satisfy that look Aziraphale was giving him. He sat up, pulling the blanket around his shoulders, feeling annoyed with its half rate surrogate warmth. “I’m nervous, I think. Scared.” Aziraphale rested his hand lightly on Crowley's, like he was afraid of touching him. Crowley felt the corners of his eyes prick with the pain that came before tears.  “I'm worried you might get in trouble, or I might get in trouble, or something, if we- if we do this.” Crowley flipped his hand, taking firm hold of Aziraphale's.

 Aziraphale sighed. His breath ruffled Crowley’s hair. “Crowley,” he said, as though he were explain to a small child something for the fifteenth time, “angels don’t fall for anything like this.”

 “I know!” Crowley snapped, flinging his arms up into the air, dislodging his blanket. “That isn’t the worst thing that can happen to you, you know!” He wrapped his arms around his knees. “They could hurt you. Or trap you where I couldn’t find you. Or warp your head until you couldn't tell me and Lucifer apart anymore. And I don't need to tell you what Hell could do to me.”

 Aziraphale stilled. Crowley did not need to tell him. He didn’t need to imagine it either. He had seen it on his friend’s form more times than he had cared to.

 “Would you even get in trouble?”

“I don’t know.” Crowley admitted. “But I might, and that’s too much of a possibility for me.”

 Aziraphale leaned into Crowley’s space a little, resting his head on his shoulder. “We don’t have to do any more than what we already do.”   

 “But I want to. And you want to. And I don’t want to be afraid of being with you.” His eyes were aching now. Tears started to spill over and he swore as they burned trails into his skin.  Aziraphale grabbed a corner of the blanket and started wiping them away as they fell.

 “Crowley.” Aziraphale said, resting a hand on his cheek as he carefully wiped Crowley's tears away. “Remember how I said I was being assigned in England? I'll be there awhile. Probably for the next few centuries. When you need me, I'll be in the same place. I'll find a place, and I will stay there the entire time I'm assigned. You will always be able to find me. We have time. We have nothing but time, dear.”

 That didn’t solve Crowley’s fears, but it was something. He leaned into Aziraphale’s touch. “Okay.” He paused a bit, letting Aziraphale clean up his last few tears. “For now though angel, could you do me a favor and forget about this?”

 “Of course.” Aziraphale stopped wiping up Crowley’s tears. “Of course I can do that, my dear boy.”

 

* * *

 

[1] Ordinarily, Crowley dressed far better, but he’d wanted to see Aziraphale with as little interruption as possible, and frankly, his preferred clothing was too conspicuous. Though he didn’t use nearly as bold color combinations as Aziraphale, he was still horribly out of place outside of a palace or painting.

[2] In truth, Crowley wasn’t actually sure of that, but he wasn’t going to acknowledge that out loud as it make his insides feel… rather unlike how he supposed they should.

[3] Crowley did not need to be told of the horrible things done on these voyages. He knew of them, and mourned them privately, the thought of them becoming the seed of yet another pearl that Crowley would make of his fear and misery when he was alone and tired. Aziraphale did not know this yet. Aziraphale himself was more bothered by the claim that what was being done was God’s will- in matters of religion that he was open about, he was considered odd already, but he was allowed his oddness at least. In his head though, he felt prickly and more than a little angry at the idea that burning books and destroying peaceful lives was anything other than wrong. Not Bad, mind you, as if it was, he would not have to keep that feeling in his head, but wrong. He did not dwell on this prickly feeling much.

[4] Once every few decades, Aziraphale found himself unable to resist responding to a seemingly innocuous phrase with a bad, and often far too revealing, joke. This had once resulted in him being martyred.

[5] Were Crowley honest with himself at this time, he would admit that he more than simply liked Aziraphale as a friend, but honesty was all but illegal in hell, and frowned upon at all times for demons.


End file.
